


An Inconvenience

by scrub456



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Available in Russian, BAMF Sherlock, Because I can be a jerk sometimes, Case Fic, Gen, Hurt John Watson, Hurt/Comfort, John Watson Whump, Not part of a series, Open ended, Scared Sherlock, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 16:46:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5298782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrub456/pseuds/scrub456
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The knife was an... <i>unexpected</i>... inconvenience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Inconvenience

**Author's Note:**

  * For [constantly_cold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/constantly_cold/gifts).



> This story is for constantly_cold, who was having a stressful day yesterday, and needed a hurt!John fix. I hope this suits.

The knife was an... _unexpected_... inconvenience.

"Sher-"

The consulting detective shushed him. "We must be absolutely silent, John." Crouched low, ready to pounce, he peered around the corner of the alley and motioned to John. "Get down!"

Yes. Get down. Sherlock had no inclination what a brilliant idea that actually was. Using the grimy wall as a guide, John fully intended to lower himself into a crouch, mirroring Sherlock’s stance.

The knife lodge just left of center in his abdomen had another idea entirely. The doctor grunted as his knees gave out, barely allowing him time to press his back to the wall. He slid down, gracelessly, until he was seated on the dank ground.

Sherlock growled. "For godsake, John. Are you absolutely certain you were in the military? A blinking sign wouldn't reveal our position as well as you have just now."

John tried to hum his acknowledgement, but all he could manage was a soft moan. With shaking, fumbling hands he attempted to bunch folds of his jumper around the hilt of the knife in order to staunch the blood flow.

Of course Sherlock heard John’s distress. The panic in the sound caused his spine to straighten slightly. But at the very same moment he detected movement at the other end of the alley. Pushing any concern aside for the moment, Sherlock made ready to give chase. "They're moving."

Blinking away the tears that seemed to come at their own volition, John made a decision. He had been able to dispatch one of the criminals, though not before receiving a knife to the gut. These were dangerous men, but Sherlock was more than capable of stopping them. And he wouldn't be attacked from behind. How many more people could be saved if Sherlock went on without him?

He needn't be distracted by John's own failure to disarm his attacker.

Gingerly leaning toward the detective, making every effort, and failing miserably, to keep the knife from shifting, John attempted to press the Sig into Sherlock's hand. When the detective swatted his hand away, cold metal clattered harshly to the ground. John grimaced, bracing for the acerbic dressing down.

"John, what are you..." Sherlock glanced back over his shoulder at him with a frown.

"Go... You go." John gasped. Breathing was becoming tiresome. A wave of dizziness overtook him, and John slumped back against the wall. He groaned at the pain radiating from his left shoulder. A bit not good, that. "I... I'll catch up... You go... Call... Les-Lestrade first... yeah?"

"Don't be ridicu..." Sherlock snatched up the gun and turned to face John. He stopped short when he noticed sticky, crimson finger prints on the weapon. An alarmed cry escaped Sherlock's throat as he took in the sight before him.

_Skin: pallid (correlation: impending death), clammy. Eyes: unfocused, vacant. Breathing: labored, erratic. Stance: slumped, listing to the left, protective. Movement: too still, even for John, both hands scrabbling for purchase -- almost aimlessly -- kneading at the jumper... John's favorite oatmeal colored jumper... The oatmeal colored jumper that was now stained scarlet... Bunching the sodden fabric around a foreign protrusion. The hilt of a knife. A folding Bowie knife, intended for camping and hunting... Oh. Oh God. **OH GOD.**_

In an instant Sherlock was crowded over John, shaking hands hovering near John's own hands, afraid to touch. "John? John, what do I do? John, tell me what to do!" Silently, Sherlock accosted himself for sounding so weak. This was John. Constant in all things, courageous to a fault, strength exemplified, John. Sherlock steeled himself. He had to be for John what John always was for him.

"Don... don't pull it..."

"Obviously." Sherlock hissed, willing himself not to sound frantic.

"Uhm..." John's eyes drooped closed.

"John!" Sherlock barked fiercely, startling the other man. "Don't be an idiot! You have to stay awake."

"Right... sorry. Sorry... Get help. I tried... but..."

Dropping the gun he still had gripped tightly in his hand, Sherlock fished out his mobile. 999 would be too long. He dialed Lastrade.

"What the hell, Sherlock?" Lestrade shouted in lieu of a greeting. "You idiots took off, I get a text of nothing but jumbled letters and numbers from John, and neither one of you are answering your bloody phones. I'm about ready to..."

"John's been stabbed." He knew he sounded near hysterics. Logical, since that's exactly how he felt. He took a deep breath. And another. He had to keep himself composed; John's very life depended on him.

Lestrade cursed and shouted at someone. "Where are you? How bad is it?"

Sherlock rattled off their location. "It's his abdomen. Knife's still in there, a large hunting knife. There's so much blood..."

"Liver," John rasped. "Punctured the... the..." He gasped and grabbed for Sherlock's free hand. "I can't..."

"Lestrade, just hurry!" He moved to disconnect the call, but after a second thought, he switched the call to speaker and laid the phone down on the ground. "Lestr... Greg, stay on the line. Just in case."

"I'm here Sherlock. I'm on my way. Emergency services will be there soon." Lestrade went silent after that, but Sherlock could hear his every movement through the open line. The thought that he and John weren't alone was unusually reassuring.

"John, I'm going to use my scarf to help staunch the bleeding. Your jumper isn't working." The doctor whimpered as Sherlock pried his hand free from the weakening grip.

"Don't... please don't..." Eyes normally vibrant cerulean, dulled by the force of life seeping away, pleaded with the consulting detective. Sherlock turned his face away. The fear and sorrow etched on the former soldier's face was too much to bear.

"I'm here John. I'm not going anywhere. This... this is going to hurt." As much as Sherlock wanted to be gentle, to caress and whisper, the situation demanded strength. He pulled the scarf from around his neck, folded it to a manageable bundle, and without warning, pressed the fabric around the hilt of the knife.

John cried out in pain, his body instinctively tried to shy away from the agonizing pressure. "Sher... Sherlock!" Eyes wide, John watched his friend as if he had no idea what was happening.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade sounded distressed. "Sherlock, we're close."

"Good. Very good." Reaching across John, he held the scarf in place with his right hand, Sherlock moved John’s left hand to help apply pressure.

"John? John... I need you..." Sherlock cleared his throat in an effort to dislodge the lump that had formed there. "Press here, John. It's going to hurt, but we have to keep pressure on the wound."

"'M a doctor..." John's breathing was coming in shorter, more shallow breaths now.

"Yes you are, John. So you know I am correct." Sherlock lifted John’s left hand back into the position from where it had fallen slack at his side. He placed the blood stained, work worn, precious hand on top of a section of the scarf, allowing gravity to apply the needed pressure. "John... John, keep looking at me. Don't go to sleep." Sherlock strained to maintain a calm tone. He picked up John's right hand with his own left and slid his fingers up to feel for a pulse. Too weak. "Lestrade?"

"Four minutes. John, hang in there."

John groaned in response. "Sherlock?" He struggled for his next breath and worked his jaw, willing himself to speak. "Sher... Sorry. I'm... sorry..." He squeezed his flatmate's hand.

"John Watson, you stop that! I'll not allow it. You've nothing to apologize for." Sherlock's heart broke as he watched John struggle for words. "John... Oh, John, save your breath. Please. Just keep breathing." Sherlock squeezed John's hand once, and then laid the doctor's hand over his heart. "That's your heart, John. do you feel it? You do whatever you have to do to keep that heart beating. It's the most amazing, brave, kind, generous, and beautiful heart in the world. It would be the end of everything... the end of me... if that heart ceases. You keep fighting, John. Help is coming." Sherlock dragged his forearm across his eyes to wipe away the errant tears.

"God, Sherlock." Lestrade whispered. "Two minutes. Ambulance is right behind."

John's eyes drifted shut, though he moaned with each breath. 

"John, please. Open your eyes, John." Sherlock lightly cupped John's jaw. "Please, John, stay with me."

The doctor's eyes fluttered, though never fully opened. "Sher... lock. You're afraid... Why're you..."

Sherlock couldn't swallow back a lone sob. "Very good, John. Very observant of you. I am afraid John. You are the reason I'm afraid." John's breath hitched and tears tracked down his now blood smeared face. "No, no John. It's okay." Sherlock soothed. It wasn't okay. This would _never_ be okay. If John... No, _when_ John recovered, this still would _not_ be okay. "I'm afraid because the strongest person I know is laying here broken. And because the only person who has ever truly come close to understanding me, who has even ever tried, is... John, you can't... Please. I will never forgive you. Do you hear me?" He didn't wipe the tears away this time.

"'M afraid too... Don't wanna..." John's chest heaved and he was overcome with a coughing fit. He cried in agony as Sherlock attempted to keep the blade as still as possible. Ignoring the fresh surge of blood soaking through the scarf, Sherlock wrapped his left arm behind John's back and cradled his best friend to his chest. 

"Breathe John. Follow me." _Selfish._ Sherlock knew he was being selfish, demanding that John stay with him. Forcing John to breathe had little to do with what was best for John, and everything to do with the fact that Sherlock was terrified by the prospect of being alone once more, of having the only bit of light in his life extinguished, and being plunged once more into the darkness and despair of his own mind. He hadn't realized until this moment how vital this life that was draining away in his arms had become. John was necessary, not just to the work. Not just to stave off the loneliness. John was imperative for Sherlock's very existence.

But it wasn't fair. Sherlock had no right to demand anything of John, when John had already given so much of himself, even now, to keep Sherlock alive. He squeezed his eyes tight shut and exhaled. He brushed a soft kiss on the crown of his best friend's head. "John... If it's too much, if you're too tired... I... It's okay..."

"No!" John cried, his voice weak. "No..." His fingers found and held tight to Sherlock's lapel. "'M not... Can't go... Need you, Sh'lock..."

"And I you, John." A small smile crept across his face, despite the tears that flowed freely now. "Listen John, I hear the ambulance now. Can you... Will you stay?" John nodded weakly against Sherlock's chest. "Thank you seems inadequate..."

"W-will you... will you stay..." John tugged on Sherlock's coat.

"Yes, John. Always." The consulting detective pulled his blogger a little closer.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, medics are entering the alley now, we're here!" Lestrade disconnected the call as the rescue team converged.

**Author's Note:**

> Open ended... bwahahaha!
> 
> See comments section for what I think probably happens next (as I'm feeling rather Puckish, and think I'll leave the frustrating open ending as it is).
> 
> \----------
> 
> This fic has been translated in [Russian](https://ficbook.net/readfic/4867383)!


End file.
